A Heartwarming Christmas: A Boxed Set of Twelve Sweet Holiday Romances

by Melinda Curtis

  She felt for the emergency speed dial on her phone and pressed it…then held it up for him to see. His arms fell to his sides.

  “Please don’t do that. Let me explain.”

  “I already did," she said, after giving her location to the Sheriff's Department. "And if you really have a son napping in my cabin, then you won’t make a run for it and leave him behind.”

  ~*~

  Quinn leaned his elbows on the worn butcher’s block table in the cabin and covered his face with his hands. Thank goodness Jax had been tired enough to sleep through the past hour. Hopefully, he’d sleep through the night. After the deputy—and the woman he now knew was Lia Logan—had seen that he really did have a kid with him, they’d kept their voices down. But that didn’t stop the lengthy interrogation and waiting on the results of a background search. If he’d been back in the city, the cops would have taken an arrest-first-ask-later approach. Whether it was because Jax was curled under musty blankets or the fact that night had fallen along with fresh snow, Quinn was simply glad that everyone had given him a chance to defend himself.

  The logs in the fireplace crackled and popped. Where she’d found dry wood, he didn’t know and didn’t care. He was grateful that she was warming up the place for Jax. Quinn scrubbed at his jaw then set his hands on the table, letting the warmth of the wood penetrate his skin. His granddad had built it. Quinn had done homework here, once upon a time. He glanced around. The mortar that ran along the log walls had chipped off in places and the old fridge…well, no amount of hunger could convince him to open it. Brave and stupid were very different things.

  Lia stared at him from the small, stone hearth with her beast purring at her feet. She’d pulled her dark blonde hair loose from its pony tail and it flowed over her petite shoulders. It was hard to tear his eyes away from her natural beauty. The younger of the Logan sisters all grown up. The strength and determination in her sharp green eyes drew him in, but looks didn’t matter. She’d called the police on him. His only crime up until now—the only thing his ex or anyone else would have been able to hold over his head to label him an unfit parent—was being broke and homeless. Now he had a trespassing record. And some old cop staring at him like the father of a teenage girl. The deputy tucked his radio in his belt and cleared his throat.

  “Everything checks out,” he said, nodding towards Lia. He propped his pen between his ear and graying hair then flipped a page back on his notepad. “Divorced owner of a custom woodworking shop in Portland, Maine. Driven out of business less than a year ago because the big chain store ‘Wood Wonders’ had moved in across the street. Ended his apartment lease about two month ago. No address on record since. Grandfather, deceased as of five months ago, used to work here at Two Sticks. His ex—Elena Lone—is a model in Los Angeles.”

  Lia rolled her eyes at the deputy’s last words. She could make whatever assumptions she wanted to about him. People made mistakes. He’d completely misjudged the kind of person Jax’s mother was, but he had no regrets. He had Jax.

  “At this point,” the deputy said, “it’s up to you, Lia. Do you want to press charges? Have me give him a cozy jail cell? I could call social services to place the boy until he’s out.”

  Quinn’s hands suddenly felt cold and clammy.

  “If you’d just let us go, the deputy sheriff here could drop us off in town and we’ll be out of your hair. Christmas is only a month away. Please don’t bring social services into this. Don’t do that to my kid,” he said, praying she’d have a heart.

  Lia looked over her shoulder at the doorway to the only bedroom in the place. She paused, scratching the back of her hand then tucking her hair behind her ear. He vaguely remembered the Logan sisters from the two years he spent living with his grandfather. Didn’t spend much time around them, but he remembered them being nice. Granted, the younger one had been a bit strange and quiet, always wandering off with a pair of binoculars and field guide.

  “No,” she finally said. “No charges, Deputy Vale. If you say he’s safe, I trust you. But you know how word travels here and I’m betting my mom will want to hear that from you.”

  “I’ve got you covered, Lia,” the deputy said.

  Was everyone in this town one, big, happy family? She walked over and stood close enough for Quinn to see the word Peace engraved on her silver earrings.

  “You can stay here on one condition,” she said. “You stay at least a few weeks. I need help restoring this place…replacing rotting wood and anything else it needs to make it livable on a permanent basis.”

  A job. She was offering him work? The dense weight that had been pressing against his chest for months melted away. He didn’t care that it wasn’t permanent work. It was a job. Something even the temp agency he’d gone through hadn’t been able to get for him. He wanted to fall to the floor and kiss her feet. Making a little money meant he’d have the means to move on and get back on his feet. He had hope.

  “I’ll, um, need to change our vacation plans, but I can do that,” he said, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair, as if he was doing her a favor.

  Lia nibbled at her lip and fingered one of her earrings.

  “There’s just one more thing,” she said. “I can’t afford to pay you.”

  ~*~

  Guilt burned in Lia’s chest when Quinn’s eyes dimmed and mouth tensed. So, he did need money and a roof. Vacation plans, my foot. She’d been reading between the lines with the deputy sheriff’s report and Quinn’s earlier statement about coming to town because he’d once lived here with his grandfather. It hadn’t been said in so many words, and first impressions told her that Quinn Weston didn’t want rescuing, but Lia had a sixth sense for when someone was desperate for help, but too stubborn to ask for it. Quinn was like an ill or injured animal of prey—skilled at faking that they were strong and healthy until the last second. Weakness made them an easy target for predators. Quinn clearly had his defenses up. The poor man looked drained and pale, as if he’d just walked off of a battle field.

  “That’s fine,” he said. “I don’t need the money. My son getting to spend a little time where his grandfather used to live in is payment enough. Fixing this place up would be a way to honor him.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Okay,” he repeated, standing to his full height and holding out his hand. Lia reciprocated. Her breath hitched when his calloused palm and fingers wrapped around hers. Never had a handshake felt so enveloping. Not even when she first met Dr. Garrett. Quinn held her gaze for a second too long.

  “Well, that settles it.” Deputy Vale grabbed his hat off the counter.

  “Oh, if you don’t mind, I could use a ride back to Holly Haven,” Lia said, glad for the excuse to break contact. She took the bag of leftovers off the counter and set it on the table in front of Quinn. “I’d rather not lug this back with me. You and your son help yourselves. I’ll come back tomorrow to go over what this place needs.” She walked over to the kitchen sink and took out the toiletries, roll of toilet paper and cleaning items she’d brought up out of her backpack.

  “If you’re sure,” Quinn said.

  “I’m sure.” She was absolutely certain Quinn and his son needed her Thanksgiving leftovers more than she did. That meant parting with her gingerbread. “Storm, let’s go.”

  Storm rolled onto his back and stretched in front of the fire, then reluctantly sauntered over to where Lia stood with carrier in hand. He looked up at her, then in defiance, moved in a figure eight around Quinn’s legs while rubbing his head against his jeans. Quinn reached down and picked him up as if he was a normal sized cat at half the weight. What bugged her was that Storm let him. Storm, who didn’t like most men, was male bonding.

  A purr vibrated through the cabin as Quinn stroked the traitor behind his ear. Quinn looked at Lia and a slow smile spread across his face.

  “Some attack dog you have here, Lia Logan.”

  Chapter 3

  “Lia?”

  Lia fl
oated deeper and deeper into the dark forest, trying to find whoever was calling her name, but the further she went, the more her surroundings faded into a black fog.

  “Lia, is everything okay?”

  A hand reached out and touched her shoulder, jolting her straight into reality. Her eyes felt gritty and it took a few seconds for Dr. Garrett’s handsome face to register. Crap.

  “Oh, no. What time is it?” She closed her laptop and looked frantically around the front room of Holly Haven.

  “Six-thirty. Bright and early. I was checking in on your sister’s pregnant mare and she asked me to swing by here. Said you needed my help. But judging by the keyboard imprinted on your forehead, I’m thinking this is what you really need.” He held out a steaming cup of coffee with The Tea Pot logo on it and a matching paper bag that promised a sugar rush.

  Lia slapped a hand against her forehead. She did not want to picture what she looked like at the moment. And six-thirty? Had she forgotten to set her phone alarm? She was always up and preparing meals for whatever species she had in residence by five-thirty every morning. Last night, after returning from the cabin, she was restless, so she'd worked on grant applications, updated her website and added photos—from the wildlife assembly she’d done at the school a few weeks ago—to her donations page. Her lower back cramped from the metal stool and slouched position she’d dozed off in. The place had a small overnight room in the back, complete with bathroom and cot, but she didn’t even remember falling asleep.

  “Thank you, Dr. Garrett.” She reached for the cup, genuinely grateful for the caffeine.

  “Tate. I’ve told you a million times to just call me Tate,” he said, leaning against the linoleum counter. Yes, he had, but using formalities was the only way Lia knew how to not give mixed signals.

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  “Your hawk, Stardust, seems to be doing well. I went ahead and checked her dressing, since I’m here. You definitely have a magic touch with animals.”

  Lia took a long swig of coffee. He was handsome, accomplished, loved animals and now he was complimenting her. Why did that make her uncomfortable? Why did she simply not feel anything when it came to Dr. Tate Garrett?

  “Thank you. I really appreciate it. Seriously, I do. But…I…um…never asked Amy to send you over here.” She wrinkled her nose in apology. He cocked his head and scratched his cheek.

  “You didn’t tell your mom that you were looking for a date for the Christmas pageant either, did you?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry. This is incredibly embarrassing. I don’t know what’s gotten into them. I know they mean well, but—”

  “Hey, it’s okay. No big deal,” he said. “I have three older sisters back in Pennsylvania, so you can imagine how much interference I have in my personal life. Trust me, I understand.”

  “Thank you for that,” she sighed.

  “If you do need anything, you have my number. Don’t hesitate.” He picked up his black medical bag and backed towards the door. “And the offer still stands if you need my help getting a grant. No strings attached. I mean that.”

  “Thanks again, Dr.—Tate. I’ll take you up on that.”

  Lia dropped her head against the counter as soon as the door closed behind him. The last grant she’d applied for hadn’t gone through. She had all her permits in order and always reported injuries and deaths to the necessary agencies, especially when they involved endangered species or illegal activities like raptors getting shot at—which was why she was authorized to give Firefly a permanent home—but everyone everywhere wanted and needed grants to fund rescues, rehabs and shelters. And though she’d put the donation page up online two years ago, Holly Haven wasn’t the only group that needed help. People usually put their money in bigger name organizations. She was but a single snowflake in a snowstorm and if she didn’t get a lucky break soon, she was going to melt.

  She rubbed her upper arms and yawned louder than she intended. She was answered with a chorus of chittering and feather ruffling. Even the three-legged eastern painted turtle, Igor, all cozy under the heat lamp that lit his tank the end of the room, tucked his head away then brought it right back out to check for food.

  “I know. I know. Everyone’s hungry.” She took another long swig of coffee then went over to the kitchenette area to begin food prep.

  Not that raptor and reptile food looked appetizing, but Lia’s stomach rumbled, reminding her of the leftovers she’d left at the cabin. The aroma from the pastry bag Tate had brought beckoned her, but she needed to get the animals fed first. Molly wouldn’t be here to help for a few more hours. Lia and Tate were probably the only town residents crazy enough to start their freezing, winter mornings before the sun came up. He drove a truck with a front plow attachment, since he couldn’t let snow stop him from reaching a patient in need. Lia’s car was a different story and she wouldn’t be able to trek up to the cabin, even with snow shoes, before there was light. She was crazy but not stupid. What she really needed was a can of gas to fill the snowmobile so that she could use the sled attachment to haul things up to the cabin the way she transported injured animals too big for her to carry.

  Storm looked insulted as he stared at her from the dog crate she’d set him up in last night. At least it had more room in it than the carrier, including room for a litter box. He pawed at the latch on the door.

  “Your breakfast is coming too, mister. And I promise you’ll get your space at the cabin later. At least for as long as it takes for me to let this Quinn guy know what needs to be done. Hopefully his son won’t be a tail-puller.” She rubbed her nose against her shoulder as she prepped. “The ‘no permanent address’ part is what has me wondering about them,” she muttered.

  What if they’d skipped town? Nah. She remembered the way Quinn kept checking on his son, Jax, and how exhausted and spent he looked. No way would he have abandoned the cabin in exchange for the elements. It didn’t have central heat and Lia wouldn’t have even considered living there if it weren’t for the fireplace and old wood burning stove…and the fact that it had electricity and water. Two things that had been taken care of back when Quinn’s grandfather lived there and that she’d made sure were turned back on and running a few weeks ago, when she’d first decided on the move.

  She racked her brain as she prepped the protein meals for Stardust and Firefly, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember a younger Quinn hanging around the farm. Of course, she was always told that she grew up with a book in her face. Deputy Vale, as dear a friend as he'd become in a short time, had only transferred to town a year ago, so he wasn’t familiar with any Weston. Maybe Amy would remember him. As cozy as Christmas Town was, if she didn’t, someone else would. But she really hoped the father and son weren’t going to be the town’s morning news. She wanted to talk to Quinn before her mom showed up at the cabin door. Her gut told her he’d held back a few details from the deputy. Lia knew animal behavior. Her work had honed her observational skills. The one thing that would push an individual to their limit and have them breaching boundaries or facing danger, was if they had offspring to protect. A child. And the folks she knew who had kids, usually traveled with a hoard of kid supplies. Town visitors usually traveled with luggage of some sort. From what she’d noted last night, Quinn Weston hadn’t brought much of anything with him.

  ~*~

  Quinn ran his hand along the roughly hewn mantel. It was classic Grandpa Weston work. The bark manually stripped, the chisel marks and the oil rub that brought out their depth. Unintended artistry. That was Gramps. A true craftsman. Quinn inherited his love of woodwork from him, but for Gramps it had always been about using his hands and being practical. It hadn’t been about creativity. It had been about creating. He’d put a lot of weight into building things, whether fences for the farm or barn repairs and such, and had drilled the concept of a man being able to make something from nothing…a man needing to be able to build a life for himself. Maybe it
was because he’d left his life and ancestors overseas, only to lose his wife in America. Loss had a funny way of leaving a lasting impression and of making a man want to hang onto memories and odds and ends—all things that could be easily lost. Quinn knew that first hand.

  Yet Gramps had hung on to being practical. He’d never become a hoarder or anything extreme like that. He’d been reasonable, until the stroke had stolen that ability. So why did his repeating something about a gingerbird house keep nagging at Quinn? Unless he’d meant gingerbread, but even then, it didn’t make sense. Quinn had brushed off a lot of things he’d said that sounded like gibberish, but this was different. There had been a desperation and intensity in his words as they struggled to get out.

  Quinn touched the clothes he’d draped on a line of wire he’d found in one of the cabinets and managed to string in front of the fire. Almost dry. It was amazing how many things people—including his past self—took for granted, like wearing clothes that didn’t smell like a week’s worth of wear. His shower that morning had felt like Christmas had come early.

  “Are we going to stay here, Daddy? This place is cool,” Jax said, as he navigated the table and chairs on his knees, pushing the small, wooden train caboose that Quinn had carved for him as a gift the day he was born. Jax’s mother hadn’t appreciated nor had she understood the gift. As far as she was concerned, it was a piece of wood…one that lacked the value of a high end name brand. But for Quinn it had been a gift from the heart…one that had carried the symbolism and wish for his son to “go places” in life. If only he’d known that wish would be misunderstood by the universe and going places would mean wandering homelessly.